NOTES ON HYPER-VISION IN THE YEAR 2000

 

I

 

MILLENNIAL PEN-KNIFE TOOLS

 

A virtual death machine to wake you up. A word-chord synthesiser at the edge of selection. A drug called “Strictly Free” that does what it says on the tin, is and makes you strictly free to consume. A red-bleeding type-writer inside a ping-pong ball. An holographic horse-cock wheeled in the bedroom. An invisible square of air called ‘Mosaic by Darth Vader’ stroked on telly. A neutraliser drink that sobers you up in one quick instant. The monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey protruding from the oldest fell at ten to eight. Earphones implanted with tiny mics inside them so that you can record on them. A love-bomb that explodes in a Chaos Theatre. What’s wrong with these is that they are not real!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

II

 

MILLENNIAL PROPHECIES

 

I look into that dust in that late sunbeam angling in and foresee that they will one day hunt for something called the God Particle that will prove God non-extrinsic to matter.

 

It would be good to see an alignment of the Plough and the landscape for a first black President of America.

 

I think if Fight Club were real someone would fly two planes into the Twin Towers on September 11th and I don’t think that a good idea but someone might do that.

 

I would like to write a book, maybe a Trilogy, called The Scientific Papers, classed as a series of findings into itself, into the concept of art and science as a single discussion of perception.

 

It would be good if there were a party in an office block where all the internal walls are removed and where every floor represents a decade in music, fashion and substances.

 

I myself would like to record an album on earphones, like Rimbaud might if he were a musician.

 

I would say that smells from tellies would also be possible one day too.

 

I think what we might see is an Age called the Age of Enchantment that is an echo of the Enlightenment.

 

I do wonder if there will be another immaculate conception now that we have a new Millennium.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

III

 

MILLENNIAL AMBITIONS

 

To replace the archaic word for ‘gay’ would be amazeballs because ‘gay’ used to be Man’s highest emotion and was never replaced.

 

To discover an aesthetic anti-system like the colours of the vowels in English would also be great, even though Rimbaud deemed it folly.

 

To conduct an experiment into the international language alphabet would also be an artistic ambition.

 

To overthrow the conscious self-censor would be good, maybe create a superhuman narrator called FUCK who can tell the truth like no-one else.

 

To start a new religion is what I am getting at because I think the Millennium means what is old is expended and we need to renew our values; and already Jedi is an official religion on the census forms in London.

 

To start a new language entirely would also be a positive thing, if at all possible, in my opinion.

 

I would like to start the tradition of the post-poem.

 

I would also see gypsy poetry in the English centre because it would shake things up and I think it could be interesting to see if they have anything new to offer.

 

If I were a concept artist I’d build a room made of hash that the audience can blow-torch but as I am not, just a writer, I can’t do that; and I would only endorse real live death in the cinema if an old granny volunteered for euthanasia and that’s because I do have some moral compass.

 

To make a new discovery as big as fire is the long and short of it, for every generation might have that chance again, to usurp the burning torch of culture from the old.

 

To bring back the Summer of Love is the largest and widest goal.

 

To bring about simultaneous orgasm of Man.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

IV

 

DIRTY WORK

 

“You know how dad told us all

he was an art smuggler nicknamed Blue?

That he smuggled art over the Berlin Wall?

That he sold his business when

the Berlin Wall fell? Well,

I think it might’ve been code,

might’ve been recourse to euphemism.

I think he was a pollen smuggler.

I think he had a pollen farm

way up high in the Moroccan

mountains and shipped tonnes

and tonnes of pollen to the States.

This whole art dealer nicknamed

Blue thing is just to protect us.

At least this is what I entertain.

I also think he named us after

The Doors, John, James, and Robert

and then they had a girl of course.

Have you noticed we are born

in a season each, going Spring,

Autumn, Winter, Summer, and

march right left right left in the hands?

There are also four compass

points, four seasons, four wheels

of a car and four dimensions

to the mapping of any point in

the spacetime continuum including

time. Now revolve that bifter!

After all I think Jesus himself

would be a proto-hippy stoner

poet in this day and age. Ah,

I love it when the Wizard of Oz

resolves into colour. There are

casual drug references all around us.

Mario mushrooms confer energy.

Tinkerbell’s dust makes you

fly. And in the Wizard of Oz

they lie down in the field of

poppies and see the Emerald City.

So hurry up revolving that joint.

Or else we’ll never stop the war.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

V

 

WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE DYING OF CANCER

 

A Russian has a right to a square of red perceived by someone from another land and Liberty and Trade go hand in hand.

 

Smell is the most primal sense, in love, absent in cinema.

 

Blissful Lovingness is where all religions meet.

 

Better and worse are but materialistic, Western concepts.

 

The Age of Communication momentarily endorses, means the Age of Alienation.

 

Each age is unable to see its own prejudices, its own cage of retrospective categorisation.

 

The Age of Enchantment is an echo of The Enlightenment.

 

The Enlightenment is the simultaneous astrological and sociological de-centering of Man.

 

The opposite of something is the pre-requisite.

 

The pre-verbal, the thought-pattern, into words, via the mechanics of meaning, is dilution.

 

The condition of knowledge produces no Triumph.

 

When you renounce the quest for meaning, you find it, fall back on meaning-by-proxy.

 

When you lose your concentration you die.

 

Your ordinary speech is surreal enough.

 

There are too many words in the world.

 

Everything living shares the same heartbeat in a given lifespan.

 

The artist is the missing link reintegrating into a society of worms below and the artistic spirit androgynous.

 

You should not trust systems for they rule with fear not love.

 

All guns should be flown in a spaceship into the heart of the sun.

 

Without difference no contradistinction.

 

Everyone is my brother and I love them.

 

The symbol [R] represents the stance that there is room for Creativity in the synapse gulf, that the creative spark is not all mappable/ predictable in advance.

 

There is no more mapless space.

 

Fear is an epiphany of Hell in the self.

 

Philosophy is a self-contained language corresponding to nothing real in life.

 

Existentialism is a child at the pick and mix with a credit card.

 

Politics is a choice between two plates of dogshit.

 

It is better to have a cup of tea than it is to kill yourself.

 

Portability is the new apotheosis of Form.

 

I. T. might stand for Instant Travel too.

 

All things must be returned to earth, surrendered like a rented thing to death.